


mending fences

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: between the lines [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 11:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20435447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Two weeks from the journal of Rupert Giles.





	mending fences

**Author's Note:**

> why did my brain spontaneously decide to write a sequel to a fic that was never intended to have a sequel??? especially when i have multiple wips that need attention??? who knows!!
> 
> anyway, turns out i have many feelings about giles. i'm sure that comes as a shock to all of you.

_February 7th, 2002_

I fell out of the habit of keeping a Watcher’s Diary when I stopped being a Watcher—that is, when Buffy died—and when she returned, I no longer quite saw her as my Slayer or my responsibility. Jenny has not-so-gently suggested that I perhaps fall back into the habit of keeping a Watcher’s Diary again. I pointed out that I’ve never been a very good Watcher, or even a very good mentor, and her response was that perhaps I should take the more palatable parts of being a Watcher and use them to form newer, better ways to help Buffy.

Far be it from me to understand how recording my observations will help Buffy, but Jenny does tend to be right about things like this. Jenny was the one who stayed in Sunnydale, after all. Jenny was the one who was able to _truly _help our children heal from Buffy’s death—and where was I? Off in England, pretending to the best of my abilities that I didn’t want to go right back home to my wife.

My chief concern with keeping a Watcher’s Diary again is the level of self-loathing that self-reflection allows me. And yet I must soldier on.

Today is my third day in Sunnydale. I woke up early—even in England, I was always running on California time—and made Jenny breakfast in bed, something I’ve been doing since my return. I feel as though I may be constantly trying to make up the damage I have done to our marriage, especially since Jenny hasn’t yet told me my efforts are _too much. _For all her gentle words about forgiveness, she is clearly still angry with me. I could never blame her.

We had a conversation about the children while she ate her toast. She wants me to continue to write letters to Willow; she thinks Willow could greatly benefit from the perspective of someone who has also struggled with dependency on magic, but managed to break that hold. I pointed out that most of my life choices have been horrible. She told me to stop wallowing in my own misery and start trying to actually help the people who need me. This somehow transitioned into another strange, strained argument that ended with her heading off to run the shop and me at home, alone.

Jenny has been running the Magic Box with Anya’s help, as my involvement in the shop was largely as a silent partner. I find myself afraid to ask for my place in the store back, especially when I have seen the two of them at work: they’ve developed a seamless, gorgeous partnership that doesn’t seem to need me at all. I feel utterly redundant at the store, and so today I headed, instead, to Buffy and Faith’s.

Faith still refuses to speak to me. Buffy attempted to mend fences between us by loudly and verbosely complimenting my return, but her efforts—though appreciated—were in vain. Faith left the house soon after I arrived, making a point of taking Dawn with her, and then it was just Buffy and myself.

When Buffy was alive the first time—or was it the second, if we’re counting the Master?—I think I was a better Watcher. Or perhaps it was that I left Buffy when she needed me most. Whatever it was, our talk today was…painful. She made it very clear that she had to learn to stand _without _me, but that she still isn’t quite capable of standing on her own. She said that my impact on Jenny was perhaps the hardest part of my leaving, as the children (sans, of course, Willow) had had to band together in order to subtly support Jenny when she needed it—a fact that hadn’t quite come through in Jenny’s letters, but rung just as true as they had. She said that she wasn’t sure if she even needed a Watcher anymore, if a Watcher would leave her when she needed him most.

I had the distinct sense that Jenny had been supporting Buffy quite well, if Buffy was able to be so candid with me. Mixed in with the deep hurt is a sense of deep happiness; at the very least, Buffy is able to be honest with me about what she feels and needs, even when she knows that it will hurt me. She danced around hurtful truths in the past. I cannot help but be proud of her, even if I no longer have right to feel that pride.

I told her that I loved her, and I was there for her in whatever capacity she would have me be.

She seemed to consider the concept. Then she said that she should like me to come over with Jenny for dinner tomorrow, and that she wanted me to bring a dish. At my surprise, she elaborated: she wanted me to be there as _family. _Family, she said, was a general enough term, and perhaps at some point we might work our way back up to father and daughter.

“You’ve been more of a dad to me than anyone, Giles,” she said to the kitchen table. “Right down to the whole leaving-me-in-the-lurch thing. But you’re the first dad to come back, so I think I can give you a little bit of a chance. Just…please don’t screw it up this time, okay? It was hard enough the first time, and even worse the second time.”

“The first time?” I asked.

Buffy looked directly up at me, and said, “If you don’t know what the first time was, you’ve already screwed things up.”

I don’t think I can ever make up what I did to Buffy on her eighteenth birthday. I don’t think she wants me to make it up. I think she only wants me to prove, repeatedly, that I have become a person who will never do that to her again.

Jenny picked me up from Buffy’s house, and we drove home together in silence. As I write this entry, she is still very pointedly pretending that our early-morning argument never happened, and is dodging all attempts made by me to talk about it.

It’s strange, that I was so incorrect in my assumptions. Reading Jenny’s letters, I had come to the conclusion that Buffy and the children were the ones most badly hurt by my leaving. Returning has revealed that the one most deeply and profoundly hurt by being left was, in fact, my ever-resilient Jenny.

I believed her unshakable, unbreakable, and so I left. I believe it to be one of the worst things I have done to her. At least Buffy has given me a template towards earning her forgiveness; I have absolutely no clue how to make things up to Jenny.

Tomorrow will be dinner. I hope it will prove a better experience than today.

* * *

_February 8th, 2002_

Dinner was awful.

I will write about today sequentially: I again made Jenny breakfast in bed. This time, however, she entirely lost her temper, flipped over the breakfast tray, and started shouting about how I needed to stop avoiding our issues by trying to placate her with breakfast and compliments and sex. I pointed out—not very calmly, this time—that she was the one refusing to talk to me about anything at all unless it was breakfast, compliments, or sex. This somehow transitioned into sex. I am seriously considering looking into marriage counseling.

In an attempt to avoid Jenny, I decided to spend most of the day at home cooking something to bring for Buffy. I made a very nice casserole, some soup, and a two-tiered cake, largely because I didn’t at all want to have any free time to think about how I have very possibly set my marriage on fire. I then realized that I could not possibly bring all of this food to Buffy’s without her assuming that I was trying to cook dinner for her, so I left the cake and the soup for Jenny. This was a mistake. I was rather preoccupied with transporting the casserole at the time, and did not recognize this as the horrible, terrible, absolutely awful mistake that this was.

I arrived at Buffy’s on time, and she greeted me awkwardly but cheerfully at the door. Faith was already sitting at the table, as was Dawn, who was having an animated conversation with Tara about the cupcakes they had apparently baked together. All conversation died down when I entered the room—mostly because Faith, upon seeing me, stood up and _glared _at me, then left the room herself.

Dawn, in a rather high-pitched voice, returned to telling Tara about various icing flavors, but she couldn’t quite drown out Buffy and Faith’s whispered conversation in the kitchen. It is quite clear that Faith does not intend to forgive me any time soon, if at all—and that Buffy is entirely opposed to that line of thinking. The argument was quelled when Buffy pointed out that I am Making an Effort, and until I do something actually terrible, she should like Faith to withhold judgment on me. She didn’t expect Faith to forgive me, but she _did _expect Faith to be civil for the length of one dinner party, so long as I wasn’t “the kind of jerk who makes Jenny cry.”

I was unable to listen to the rest of their conversation after that.

Buffy served a very nice pot pie, positively glowing with pride at her efforts, and started a cheerful conversation about college. She intends to re-enroll in the fall, especially now that Jenny and I are paying for her tuition, and she’s extremely excited about heading back. Her determined good mood brightened up the dinner table, and distracted me from the fact that my wife remained conspicuously absent and conspicuously late.

Thirty minutes in, and ten minutes after my casserole had been brought out, Jenny arrived. Without a word, she dragged me from the table, not even bothering to shut the kitchen door behind us.

“RUPERT,” she said, very loudly, “WHAT DID I SAY THIS MORNING?”

The aforementioned Mistake occurred to me right then. I had left a note by the cake and soup: _thought I’d leave something for you. Love, Rupert. _This had been not even three hours after Jenny had expressed her frustration with my attempts at placation through gifts. “Ah,” I said awkwardly. “Well.”

Jenny stared at me for a long few seconds, then said, “Do you even _try _to listen to me?”

“Yes!” I said. “This was an honest mistake! I was attempting to distract myself with baking—”

“You were trying to _distract yourself _from our _marriage?”_

I was beginning to have the distinct sense that anything and everything I could say in this moment would be wrong. “Um,” I said. “Not—not the marriage, the—the fact that everything I do seems—”

“Get yourself out of your self-pity spiral for a _hot second _and make a fucking _effort _to fix things,” snapped Jenny, and stormed out of the kitchen.

I was then greeted by Faith, who said with surprising cheer, “Well, guess I don’t have to pretend I don’t hate your guts, Giles, seeing as Buffy only made me promise I’d be civil to you so long as you weren’t a dumbass to Jenny,” and followed Jenny out into the backyard.

Every single part of me felt that leaving for home would be the best idea, but leaving when things were uncomfortable and difficult—_again—_would send a clear message to Buffy. So I went back into the dining room, quietly ate what was left of my casserole (despite the fact that I now had no appetite for it), thanked Buffy for a lovely dinner, apologized for my part in its collapse, and left.

Buffy had the strangest expression on her face when we shook hands. She looked almost stunned. I assumed at the time that it was in reaction to Jenny’s anger, but…it didn’t quite seem like that. Perhaps it was something else.

Jenny was crying in our bedroom when I arrived home; she is still crying now. Two years ago, I would have been the one to comfort her, to hold her, and every part of me wants to do that right now. I fear I will be received with anger, but as soon as I finish this entry, I will brave the storm.

She wants me to make an effort, and I will. To the best of my abilities, I will.

* * *

_February 9th, 2002_

Last night, something surprising happened: when I came in and sat down next to Jenny, she attempted to apologize to me. She expressed how difficult it was for her to trust me again, and how I hadn’t actually done anything to earn her ire—only attempt, repeatedly, to make her feel loved and valued. She said that she hated how defensive my genuine regret made her feel, because it was very easy for her to resent me. She said that she feels like she now knows the worst parts of herself more intimately than she had before.

I didn’t know what to say to that, and I didn’t think an apology would have helped, so I kissed her forehead and told her, repeatedly, how very much I loved _every _part of her. She didn’t have much to say in return, but she fell asleep in my arms, and we woke up similarly entwined for the first time since my return. It has been a very long while since I have woken with her so close.

I told her this morning how much and how constantly I missed her. She gave me a small, awkward smile and hurried to get dressed for work.

It’s become more apparent to me since last night that Jenny is once again reluctant to reciprocate any statements of affection. When we first began our relationship, she was similarly reticent, but that guardedness did fade over time. I hate that I have broken her trust so thoroughly. I hope, for her sake, that I can build it back again.

I joined Jenny at the shop today. It went rather as I expected: Anya gave me a dressing-down for leaving her and Jenny to run the business by themselves, then proceeded to box me out of actually helping in the store. Jenny seemed to think it was funny, though, and I will bear any and all of Anya’s attempts to physically block me from the cash register if it makes Jenny laugh as much as she did today.

Buffy showed up around lunch, tugging a visibly upset Faith behind her. “I am _not _apologizing to him,” Faith was informing Buffy, “he should be apologizing to _me—_”

“Giles,” said Buffy, “Faith would like to say that she is _very sorry _for being a dick to you yesterday.”

“Tell her I’m sorry for being just as much of a, um, _dick_ to her,” I said, rather proud of myself for not missing a beat, and went back to trying to persuade Anya to let me in the storeroom so as to check inventory.

Faith went to the back of the shop and sat at a table, scrutinizing me as though expecting me to jet back to England at any moment. Very aware that I was being evaluated, I turned my attention to Buffy, who started up a conversation about…surprisingly normal things. Not vampires, not monsters, just a silly thing Dawn had said at the breakfast table that morning, and a letter Willow had written her, and did I know that there was a Claire’s opening at the mall downtown?

And somehow I was roped into taking Buffy shopping tomorrow, which is most certainly not something that a responsible Watcher would do. Faith expressed as much, derisively, and I responded by saying that it was lucky I wasn’t a responsible Watcher, or I’d miss out on a perfectly lovely day with a perfectly incredible child. Buffy pointed out that she was twenty. I informed her that she could be forty and she’d still be a child to me.

Jenny pointed out, after Buffy had left, the way Buffy’s eyes had sparkled when I’d said that. “She _wants _a dad, you know,” she said gently. “You’ve come back. She wasn’t expecting you to do that. You’ve still got a chance to really make things up to her, Rupert.”

I was the one left speechless, at that.

* * *

_February 10th, 2002_

Shopping with Buffy was a nightmare. But I say that in the affectionate sense, and not with any genuine horror or misery behind it: it was lovely to see Buffy so happy, and I wouldn’t trade that experience for the world. That said, spending seven hours traipsing around the Sunnydale Mall while Buffy tried on the same pink halter top in every store (she _insists _that they were all different, but I couldn’t see _any _distinguishing qualities between them) is an experience somewhat akin to being slowly and painstakingly sucked dry by a vampire. I expressed this to both Buffy and Jenny, and they both said that I was being extremely dramatic. I was not being dramatic.

Upon finding out that I have one ear pierced, Buffy made me get a pair of earrings at Claire’s. She very clearly was not expecting me to wear it out of the store. I am sure that a gentleman in his mid-forties wearing one glittery teddy bear earring clearly meant for a preteen girl did garner some attention, but it was more than worth it to utterly shock and embarrass Buffy.

“I simply took you up on your very bad bluff,” I told her, with an impressive amount of dignity for someone who was holding back a giggle fit.

“Please Never Do That Again,” said Buffy, who was walking five feet ahead of me in an attempt to pretend she didn’t know me. Ah, the joys of fatherhood.

Jenny and Faith met us at the food court. Upon seeing my earring, Faith burst out laughing and had to hide her face in Jenny’s shoulder. She spent the entirety of lunch attempting to keep her expression sullen and angry, but every time she looked at my earring, she started laughing again. Clearly, ridiculous fashion choices are the way to mend fences with Faith. Jenny told me, straight-faced, that leaving for England was at least marginally forgivable, but the earring warranted a divorce. I told her I would draw up the papers, as the earring had become an integral representation of my character. Jenny fell off her chair laughing and Buffy (trying very hard not to smile) told us that we were both Terrible and Awful.

The supernatural aspect of Sunnydale is a less prevalent part of my life at this point, especially with Faith picking up the slack to let Buffy recover properly. It was unusual to have such a strangely normal day today, but _thoroughly _refreshing. I am starting to think I would like more days like this.

* * *

_February 11th, 2002_

I am trying to think of a present for Jenny for Valentine’s Day. No card quite encapsulates “I am so sorry I was a terrible husband and left you by yourself in another country to take care of the six children we inadvertently adopted.” I did see one that said “You’re The Bee’s Knees.” Perhaps she would appreciate that.

Buffy suggested flowers. Faith suggested candy (with a look in her eyes that suggested Faith knows Jenny will inevitably gift at least half of said candy to her). Anya suggested money. Dawn thinks Valentine’s Day is overrated and I should just give Jenny a present _every _day of the year. I am personally of the mind that I was much better at this sort of thing _before _I left Jenny by herself in another country. Back then, any passable attempt at romance would be met with love and appreciation, because back then, we had a relationship built on a foundation of trust and understanding.

I want to give her something that will strengthen that foundation again. I feel as though it has to be absolutely perfect. She deserves nothing less, after what I put her through.

* * *

_February 12th, 2002_

Willow,

It is such a delight to hear that you continue to progress in your recovery. Specifically, that you have progressed to the point where the coven feels you are ready to use magic again. I myself was never able to reach that point: I quit cold turkey and never sought out any professional or qualified help, as you well know. I am deeply and profoundly impressed that you have worked so tirelessly to foster a healthy relationship with your magic, not to mention _very _proud of you.

Valentine’s Day, as I am sure you know, is right around the corner, and I have consulted with all of the Scoobies but yourself regarding what to get Jenny for a romantic gift. Normally, I wouldn’t ask anyone’s advice (particularly not Xander’s—his idea of a good gift for one’s wife was, and I quote, “sexy lingerie, because that’s a present for both of you”), but all of you were there for Jenny when I was not, and I feel that you all might have some valuable input about what she might appreciate most at this point in time. If you have any ideas, please send them my way. They would be most appreciated.

Tara would like me to pass on a message: she is not quite ready to initiate contact just yet, but she is ready to respond to it. She would thoroughly appreciate if you might reach out to her through a letter or a phone call. She doesn’t want to interrupt your recovery, but she wants you to know that if she can be there for you, as a friend, all you need do is ask.

The same holds true for me. Please always ask if you need anything, Willow. Anything at all.

With much admiration,

Giles

* * *

_February 13th, 2002_

Giles!!

I’m gonna send this letter the second after I’m done writing it, before you purchase something really big for Ms. Calendar in an attempt to overcompensate for making her cry a lot last year. Buffy says you’re kinda _really _trying to make things up to everybody, and it’s super clear that you’re really trying to be there for all of us in ways that you weren’t before. Literally the entirety of Buffy’s last letter was her talking about how you guys went shopping and you walked around with her for _seven hours _and didn’t complain _once. _Well, at least not till you were out of the mall. Then you didn’t stop. Buffy says she can tell how hard you’re trying and it means a lot.

Which is kind of a good segue into the point I’m trying to make: I don’t think Ms. Calendar really wants flowers, or chocolate, or anything super big and gift-y at all. I think that Ms. Calendar spent a really long time missing _you. _Not the stuff you do for her, or the nice things you say to her, just…

When I got really messed up, that night, the one that finally got me to realize how much I needed help, Ms. Calendar stroked my hair while I cried myself to sleep. And when I woke up on her couch, I heard _her _crying, and I kinda squinted across the living room and saw that she was hugging an overcoat you’d left behind. I didn’t let her know I was awake, so I don’t think she knows I saw her, but Giles, she missed you _so much. _I don’t think any gift you give her can be bigger or better than the fact that you came back. I don’t know if you even need to try.

I think, for Valentine’s Day, you should tell her that you’re never going to leave again, and in a way that’ll make her believe you. I’m not going to give you my ideas on how you can do that, because I think this is something that you need to figure out on your own. You’re a smart guy, Giles. I’m sure you can come up with something.

Thank you for passing on Tara’s message, but I’m trying to give us both some space. Please tell her…I don’t know. Tell her that I’m sorry. Tell her that I love her. Tell her whichever one you think will make her the happiest, because both of those things are true.

Love,

Willow

* * *

_February 14th, 2002_

Today I drove home from the Magic Box with my wife for the first time in nearly a year. Upon arriving, I did not cook her dinner, nor did we hasten to the bedroom for avoiding-our-issues sex—Jenny went out to rent a movie, and we spent the night in watching _Heathers _and ordering a pizza. Apparently, _Heathers _is Jenny’s comfort movie. I don’t entirely see what’s comforting about a deeply disturbed young man attempting to murder everyone he knows, but Jenny says I need to broaden my horizons. I told her that marrying her was enough broadening of my horizons for a lifetime. She started laughing—really laughing—and then…

Well.

It’s silly, isn’t it? I’ve been married to Jenny for nearly a year—dating her for longer—and there have been countless times that a playful argument has led directly into kissing Jenny on the sofa. But writing about it now—the way her laughter made her breath hitch as I kissed her, the way she seemed so unapologetically _delighted _to be kissing me—it seems almost shockingly intimate. Perhaps it’s just that we haven’t had any moments like that in a long time—especially since, prior to today, all of our more amorous connections were A) a way to avoid us talking about our issues and B) always a precursor to sex. This was not that. This was me, kissing her, with no ulterior motives other than the fact that I love her and I love being with her.

I pulled back to tell her as much, and though it was hidden under layers of laughing warmth, I could see the deep, sad fear in my wife’s eyes. And all of a sudden, the full weight of Willow’s words sunk in, and the concept of a perfect Valentine’s Day gift felt very, very stupid. The damage I had done, I thought, was not something that can be fixed with a present, or with a nice night in. It might take years of tireless work before Jenny really trusted me again.

“I’ve said it before,” I said quietly, “but I am so sorry.”

Without a word, Jenny leaned forward, and rested her forehead against mine. Very quietly, she said, “I would give anything to believe you, Rupert. Anything.”

She got up, then. I think she is in our room. I don’t know. I have been sitting here for a very long time. I have not forgotten the look in her eyes. I think I see it every time I close my own.

* * *

_February 15th, 2002_

Dear Willow,

Thank you for your advice. Thank you for being candid with me. I understand how much I am needed in Sunnydale, now, more than ever. I only wish that I had understood it sooner.

I told Tara that you want her to be happy. I think that that’s the message you truly wanted to convey. I hope I’m right.

Giles

* * *

_February 16th, 2002_

What do you do to make it clear that you are never going to leave? How do you fix something so thoroughly and systematically shattered due to your own carelessness and idiocy? Had I bothered to even _think _about something other than my own insecurities, my own desire to run and never look back, I would not have broken Jenny’s heart. Now that I am thinking only of hers, she doubts my motives. I have no idea how to fix this.

A grand gesture would seem meaningless, and yet anything smaller would seem inconsequential. I have no idea how to fix this. None at all. And now I am so lost in Jenny that I feel I am neglecting Buffy, and I came back largely to be _there _for Buffy, and I Have No Idea How To Fix This. A marvel, really, that Jenny wants me here: it seems that I am the cause of her misery whether or not we live under the same roof.

What do I do?

What can I do?

* * *

_February 16th, 2002_

Hey Buffy,

Rupert’s been really stressed lately, and he’s been bottling it up for what he seems to think has been my sake, and it all kind of came out when I got home today. He’s doing okay—please don’t worry about him jetting off to England again, because it’s become _very _clear to me that he has no intention of doing that—but I’m gonna need to forcibly get him to lie down, so he and I are probably not going to be able to make your Scooby dinner tonight.

Again, please don’t worry. I’ve got this. He may be a crazy ball of anxiety, but he’s _my _crazy ball of anxiety. Just gotta untangle him a little and I think we’re going to be fine.

Love,

Ms. Calendar

* * *

_February 16th, 2002_

Ms. Calendar,

Just don’t tell me how you’re going to “untangle him” and I think _I’ll _be fine.

Love,

Buffy

* * *

_February 19th, 2002_

Something rather unexpected happened three days ago—hence my brief break from this journal. I hope that now my entries will resume their consistency.

I hesitate to write about this incident in my journal; I am still quite deeply ashamed of myself for it. But Jenny insists that I record it; she seems to think that it was a step forward for both of us. I hesitate to see that as the case. Still, listening to her has never steered me wrong—in fact, _not _listening to her is generally the worse course of action—and so I will bend to her wishes.

Three days ago, I suffered an extreme loss of control when writing in my journal. To put it more specifically: when Jenny entered the room, she noticed that my hands were shaking as I wrote, and asked me if there was something wrong. I responded to this by shattering entirely. Jenny correctly labeled this as a panic attack, sat down on my lap, and talked to me, calmly and softly, for nearly twenty minutes—_long _after I had managed to regain control of my emotions. She told me that she loved me, and that even when she had difficulty trusting me, she _never _had difficulty loving me. She told me that she didn’t realize she had caused me such stress, and that she was _deeply _sorry for doing so. She told me that as miserable as this last week or so has been, it’s still been _worlds _better than when I wasn’t here at all. She told me how glad she is that we are still in each other’s lives.

I don’t remember when we started kissing. The talking and the kissing bled together, a bit.

Jenny has been busy, these last two days—being an active partner in the Magic Box doesn’t allow her to take much time off—but we have agreed to have a serious, thoughtful talk about our relationship tonight. She has insisted that I take some “sick days” from attempting to make things up to the children, as it has become a “seriously unhealthy obsession.” I wouldn’t call it an _obsession, _but I can agree that it has impacted my health significantly, and so I have been staying home, watching talk shows, and making more food for when Jenny comes back from work.

It’s strange. I feel quite…cared for. I suppose that that’s what marriage is about.

* * *

_February 20th, 2002_

Buffy showed up today with a casserole of her own, and we ate it together on the couch. She said she thinks she’d like to be a therapist, or a guidance counselor, or someone who is able to help the people who need it. I told her that that was a noble cause.

“Well,” she said, and leaned a bit on my shoulder. “I learned that one from you, Giles.”

“I left,” I said.

“Yeah, but that part doesn’t matter _half _as much as the way you came back,” said Buffy earnestly. “You could’ve come back a different way, you know? Maybe Willow was trying to end the world and you came back to stop her. Maybe I ended up too messed up to function and you had to come back to really help me. But you came back because you realized you made a mistake. And you didn’t try and con your way into forgiveness—you took body blows from literally all of us, ‘cause you wanted to help in any way you could.” Her smile faded. “Which ended up really hurting you. We’re all pretty sorry about that, by the way.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said.

“Giles,” said Buffy, “you made an astronomically bad call. That doesn’t make you a terrible person. You do know that, right?”

I was struck, then, with the realization that my Slayer, my child, the bouncy little girl who had entered the library and refused her calling, had grown up into a brave and compassionate young woman. And because I really am making an effort to be more forthright, I told her as much, which resulted in Buffy giving me a not-at-all-awkward hug. Some good things do come of being honest, I think.

* * *

_February 21st, 2002_

We had another Scooby dinner. It didn’t go quite as abysmally as the first, though the first dinner did set the bar quite low. Faith was still quite angry with me, but it’s clear Buffy gave her a talking-to, because she managed to maintain at least the pretense of civility throughout most of the dinner (save for a point in the middle where she insulted my tie). Jenny seemed very proud.

I brought a cake. It wasn’t a very good cake. Buffy soldiered on, ate two slices, and informed the table at large that eating two slices of cake no one in their right mind would want was what good Slayers did when their Watchers had made said cake. _Solidarity, _she called it. Dawn and Xander all but fell off their chairs laughing.

Jenny pulled me into the kitchen again, right after dessert. At first I thought that she was angry with me, but she looked at me for a long moment, stood on tiptoe, hid her face in my shoulder, and started to cry. I didn’t quite understand why at the time, but I did have enough presence of mind to hug her back and kiss her hair and further express my husbandly devotion. It seemed to work.

Faith tugged me aside once Jenny and I had returned to the dining room.

“You know,” she said, “we’d have these dinners once a week, right? And every time, Jen looked like this miserable zombie. So one day, I ask her, hey, why the glum face? And she says, I keep thinking about how Rupert should be here. Everyone I love is in one room, and he’s not here.” Faith looked me in the eye. “You’d better be here every fuckin’ time,” she said. “Every time she wants us all here, you’re here.”

“I will be,” I said.

Faith nodded. Then she said, “Did you bring me any cool knives from England?”

“No,” I said.

“Asshole,” said Faith, smirked a little, and went back to dinner.

Jenny and I walked home together, largely because a moonlit stroll with my wife (and, of course, some holy water) is always a lovely thing to do. She kissed me at the door, and because I was still thinking about what Faith had said, I told her, “I’m sorry, Jenny.”

And Jenny looked up at me, a small smile on her face, and said, “You complete idiot, you had an entire goddamn panic attack because you thought you weren’t sorry enough, and you think I still need you to _apologize to me? _You’re staying. I get that. I trust you, I promise. Let’s go inside before a vampire eats us.”

I think that we’re going to be all right.


End file.
